The Bloodwolf War Page 7

  The grey stallion remained on the eastern bank, rearing and paw­ing the air. He continued to scream until they were out of sight.

  They galloped on. Yuma doubted the stallion had any intention of returning. He didn’t care.

  Chapter 6

  Fleet wound his way through the valleys, following Rocky’s advice, until he reached what must be Silverstream. Narrower than River Lifeflow, the waterway surged and tumbled over black, white, and grey rocks glinting through the shallows. The pebble-strewn bank made the going uneven. After a quick drink, he retreated to higher ground and made speed over the short, coarse vegetation. Squirrel rode, whistling birdsongs, his legs dangling softly on Fleet’s sides. He had been sure the man would have abandoned him once he found his own kind. Maybe he hadn’t been lost. Why had he come?

  At least Fleet wasn’t alone. Having spent the night with Rocky, he had hoped Streak would change his mind about banishing him. But no. Once again, he was on the trail with no other horses for company. He had learned little from the Flowering Valley herd other than how ignorant he was. Did unicorns exist? Would he be able to find one if they did? The further he travelled, the more unlikely either possibility seemed.

  The river straightened and the hills retreated, leaving a floodplain where the grass smelled sweeter. Fleet slowed and cropped mouthfuls as he dawdled along. When he halted to savour a rich patch, Squirrel slid off and unslung his weapon. Fleet had become accustomed to him hunting for his dinner, and no longer worried when he shot a coney or duck.

  How far must he travel? He didn’t want to be alone. Perhaps it would be safe to return to King Streak in winter, when the mares would be safely in foal. His life stretched before him, lonely and lost, searching for he knew not what.

  The pain in his rump lingered like fog on a winter’s morning, wrapping him in misery and dampening his spirits. At night, when­ever he dozed, visions of bloodwolves tearing out mares’ throats and slaughtering their foals smothered him. During the day, black spells swarmed him like a plague of bugs buzzing around his ears, dizziness disorienting him and nausea rising in his throat. So much for his brave words to avenge Sapphire’s death! He couldn’t save the herds from annihilation.

  The smell of stallions teased his nostrils.

  He swivelled his ears and picked up the sound of two horses trotting. While he dithered whether to run or stay, a welcoming whinny carried on the breeze. Excited, Fleet trotted to meet them, his pain and misery forgotten, tail over his back and neck arched as he pranced.

  The older of the stallions swapped breath with him and squealed, striking out with one foreleg before introducing himself. “Where have you come from? It’s an odd time of year to be driven from the herd.”

  Fleet briefly shared his background. “Can you tell me how to reach a shining lake?”

  The younger stallion trotted in a circle around them, flicking out his toes and swishing his tail as his powerful hindquarters thrust him into the air, hovering between strides. “You’re here. This is Silverlake, home of the homeless, territory of kings in the never-making. Come on, race me, let’s see how fast you are.”

  The older stallion nipped the younger one as he passed by. “Leave him alone. We’ll challenge him soon enough. Can’t you see he’s injured? What sort of defeat would that be, beating him when he’s ill?”

  Fleet didn’t intend to get into battle with these stallions. “Are there many of you here? Does the unicorn live here?”

  “Unicorn?” The younger stallion halted and rolled his eyes. “You’re not looking for her, are you? I thought you’d come to live a life of celibacy with the rest of us no-hopers. Stop dreaming. Stay and fight, build your strength, and maybe one day you’ll be able to challenge one of the kings and end your life of freedom.”

  Three more stallions cantered over, showing off their speed and agility as they dodged and weaved around each other. A stocky bay charged at Fleet and bit his neck, ducking out of reach before Fleet could retaliate.

  He reared and screamed, pain and frustration driving him. He bit back at another stallion nipping him on the rump. Another flicked his heels towards Fleet’s ribs. He kicked back and connected with hard muscle. The impact sent shudders up his hind end. “Stop! I’ll go! I only want—”

  The older stallion who had first introduced himself drove the others back. “Give him a chance. I want to hear why he’s searching for a unicorn. I thought that myth had died out years ago.”

  Fleet puffed, the reprieve confusing him almost as much as the attack. “My dam was killed by a bloodwolf. An army of them is threatening the herds. She had a vision and told me to warn King Streak.”

  The stallions settled, standing close, their curiosity roused. “Did Streak send you here?” “What’s a bloodwolf?” “Why do you need to find a unicorn?”

  Gathering his wits, Fleet held his ground, determined to be strong. “Aren’t the unicorns supposed to protect us?”

  Once again, it was the older stallion who maintained calm. “That’s a legend, but you could try talking to Cirrus. He’s always muttering about a unicorn, though I warn you, he’s quite mad.”

  “Mad? He should have been feeding the vultures years ago.” One of the younger stallions sneered and muttered something to his neighbour.

  Mad or not, Fleet needed to talk to him. “Where will I find him?”

  Fleet continued along the river as directed, whickering to small bands of stallions as he passed. No more came to challenge him, presumably because the older stallion had admitted him into the territory. He trotted around the base of a hill and came to an abrupt halt.

  A vast body of water glistened in the sun, surrounded by rich green reed beds. Fleet had never imagined a lake would be so big, stretching so far he couldn’t see its full size. Geese grazed on the banks and flew overhead, their honking bringing the scene alive. He squelched through the soaked ground, in awe of the expanse. No wonder the bachelors congregated here where they’d never go thirsty or hungry.

  Frog song hushed as he waded deeper, their croaking resuming as he moved on. Midges tickled his eyes and climbed in his ears. He shook his head to rid himself of the pests and clambered back onto firm ground. Squirrel dismounted and crept away, crouched low, brushing rushes aside with his hands.

  Still taking in the wonders, Fleet searched for Cirrus. As predicted, he found the old stallion under a solitary willow near the lake’s edge. He introduced himself and expressed amazement at the lush feed and plentiful water.

  The old stallion rested a hind leg, his wispy tail swishing in lazy rhythm over his hocks. Scabs and scars marred the grey’s coat, his lanky frame barely covered in flesh. “Can’t go far. Wonky legs. No teeth.”

  Fleet understood why Cirrus remained where he did. He explained his dam’s vision. “The others said you might know where I can find a unicorn.”

  Cirrus’s head jerked up. “Emerald and opal! Sapphire and ruby!”

  Although he had been warned Cirrus was mad, Fleet hadn’t expected nonsense. “Sorry, I meant a horned horse, the ones who are supposed to protect us. Do you know where they live?”

  The old stallion lowered his head and blew a stream of mucus from his nose. “Gemstone, gemstone, gemstone. Beauty, beauty, beauty.”

  Fleet shuffled his hooves. “An army of bloodwolves is attacking horses! We need to get help. Can you remember anything?”

  Cirrus stared at him through cloudy eyes. “Shimmering lake…warm and lush…predator and prey.”

  Fleet could make little sense of the rambling old stallion who muttered the same phrases repeatedly. “Yes, the lake is beautiful. Do you mean the unicorns live here? How do I find one?”

  “Follow the silver. Warm and lush…predator and prey…emerald and ruby.”

  Fleet decided on a different method. Maybe if he chatted about other things, he could bring the conversation back to unicorns. He r
egaled Cirrus with his life in Dark Woods. “I don’t know what killed King Thunder, but I never met my sire.”

  “Thunder! Lightning! Mist! I knew them all!” Cirrus stirred and walked around the tree.

  Fleet wandered after him, not needing a discussion on the weather. “Have you always lived here? What is this place called?”

  Cirrus halted and stared at the water. “Silver…lake. White…water.”

  This was getting him nowhere. “Yes, it’s beautiful. My dam was queen of a place called White Water Cliffs.”

  “I was king! Thunder came back. I came here.”

  Fleet stopped. “Are you saying you knew King Thunder? You were at White Water Cliffs?”

  “My strongest colt. He usurped me. Good horse. I was tired.” Cirrus sniffed the ground in a circle and dropped like a ripe fruit, landing in a puff of dust, stretching his legs out as he rolled onto his side. “Tired…so tired.”

  “Wait! If you fathered Thunder, you’re my grandsire! I’ve never met any of my family. Don’t sleep now, please. Tell me about my sire. Tell me about White Water Cliffs. Please.”

  No answer. Cirrus lay still, his ribs no longer rising and falling. Flies settled around his eyes and mouth. No breath fluttered his nostrils. He could say no more.

  The further north Fleet travelled, the more visions of crimson wolves tore into his sleep, leaving him shivering under a sheet of sweat. Although Squirrel scrubbed at his crusted hair and untangled his mane when he woke, Fleet failed to shake the fear hovering like a flapping raven around his head. The wounds in his rump throbbed despite the salve.

  To lose his grandsire after only just finding him! Having replayed the conversation in his mind, Fleet decided “follow the silver” must mean for him to keep following Silverstream. He didn’t believe Cirrus had been as mad as the other stallions made out.

  This must be where Streak had meant him to come. But was he only sending him to live with the bachelors, or were there truly rumours a unicorn lived at a silver lake? Living with the herdless stallions held some appeal, though not as much as having a chance to gain a mare or two. If he hadn’t found a unicorn by winter, he’d return here until spring and then revisit Streak.

  Fleet pushed his nightmares away with visions of Tress. The further behind he left Flowering Valley, the more he cursed himself for being a weakling. He should have fought to remain with Blackfoot’s warriors and worked to convince the princess to gallop away. He envisioned the two of them, matching blacks, sharing rich pastures and watching their foals grow big and strong. Surely, with his youth and speed, he could have outsmarted Streak. Anger at the king for not providing more support competed with his dread of what lay ahead.

  In contrast to the territory of his dreams, the hills edging the river became more rugged. Dung piles at the side of the track had weathered into anonymity. As the mountain paths ascended, Fleet watched each step to prevent slipping over the edge. On steep descents, Squirrel dismounted and scrambled down the track behind him. On difficult climbs, the man grasped Fleet’s tail to be towed.

  They descended into another gully where the river forked. Squirrel mumbled something, pointing at the river.

  Fleet assumed the man wanted to rest. “I agree. There’s good grazing, and food for you.”

  He nibbled at the duckweed along the bank. Even this treat failed to invigorate him. Maybe he should turn back. Winter was close and feed would become scarce in these northern ranges. Perhaps his nightmares would lessen, too. They hadn’t been as bad with other horses nearby.

  As he picked at thistle heads, his appetite returned, the meal the sweetest he had enjoyed for many moons. After eating he dozed, only stirring to shift his weight to ease his stiffness. Sapphire whinnied to him in his sleep. “Don’t let my death have been in vain. You must save the herds!”

  Waking with a jolt, Fleet expected to see the chestnut mare graz­ing nearby, her deep blue eyes watching his every move. But no horse stood guard, only Squirrel lazed under a tree. The smell of cooked trout hung in the air. No scent of horse came to him. Fleet wandered to the river, wading in to his knees to drink. Yearning for his own kind seeped through his bones like rainwater through the limestone cliffs they had passed, wearing away his will cell by cell, leaving him hollow and fragile.

  But he must go on.

  To the northeast, one branch of the river disappeared between two peaks. A sense of doom loomed in his heart as he sensed the cold wind from the mountains. The stream and the breeze from the left were warm. Was this what Cirrus had been trying to tell him? Warm and lush.

  He backed out of the water and signalled Squirrel to mount. The man didn’t like to get his hogskins wet. Once on the other bank, Fleet broke into a trot. The further he followed the stream, the warmer the air became, and the more lush the feed. Robins and thrushes filled the air with music. Squirrel matched their tunes, playing his pipe while he rode. Mixed deciduous and coniferous trees cloaked the slopes, filling the air with the sharp smell of pine and pollen. Flowers that should have turned to seed long ago still bloomed in abundance.

  Hope raised his spirits. He broke into a canter, keen to explore further up the twisting valleys. “I could bring Tress here. It’d be a great place to raise foals.”

  Reaching a broad meadow, he stopped to eat, the urgency to find a unicorn dissipated. This place was too beautiful to worry about bloodwolves and death. He alternated feasting on lush grasses and resting in the shade of the drooping willows lining the river bank. Purple lupins welcomed hummingbirds, and bumblebees busied themselves among the sweet pink and white valerian flowers. He picked at the herbs Sapphire had instructed him to select, recalling the goodness of each plant from her teaching.

  Sapphire. Was this country like the territory she had called home? Why had she fled? His good mood disappeared as if the stream washed it away. Memories of the bloodwolf attack flashed before his eyes. He could even smell the rank beasts.

  The scent became stronger. Birds disappeared. Cicadas ceased rattling.

  Fleet’s wounds burned as if spiked with splinters. His head shrieked and his vision blurred. He cantered to Squirrel, shoved him with his nose, and set off before the man had settled on his back.

  A grey form streaked from the forest, closely followed by another. Another wolf erupted from the forest, joining the chase. And another. One leapt for his shoulder, claws extended.

  Fleet sprinted along the riverbank, throwing up clods of earth and small stones.

  A larger beast surged to the front of the pack, its fur streaked crimson, its tongue hanging with black drool, canines bared. The bloodwolf bounded on silent paws after him, its stench wrapping his body.

  He spurted faster.

  Fleet poured all his energy into racing, neck stretched low, ears pinned back. Every muscle screamed for him to stop, every instinct drove him harder. His strength wavered, his legs moving as if they swam rather than galloped.

  Then his hooves struck hard ground and he galloped on.

  The wolves howled.

  He slowed, spent. He cast a glance behind him, expecting to see death pounce.

  His pursuers thrashed at an invisible barrier, thwarted, clawing the empty air in frustration, their angry yips and gnashing teeth receding as he made distance.

  Chapter 7

  The sun warmed Gemstone’s emerald coat. Her ruby forelock shield­ed her eyes as she dozed lightly, half listening to the hummingbirds feasting around her. Something troubled them. Normally they rested at midday, preferring to suck nectar in the early mornings and late afternoons. Now they seemed to be storing reserves for a cold winter. Not that they needed to. Winter never came to Shimmering Lake. The plants and trees bore flowers and fruits all year round, often having both on their stems at the same time. The deciduous trees dropped their leaves at will, regrowing buds the next day.

  She had been sensing trouble for ag
es. The dragons, usually so bright and playful, appeared dull and sombre. Their rainbow scales only lit up in flashes when she sent them love. Something drained their vigour. Should she contact the other unicorns? No. What would she say? Her dam had called her for years after her horn grew, but she’d never responded. Sometimes she caught mind messages between the others. She never joined in—better they thought her dead.

  Gemstone’s horn emerged when she was six moons old, a glorious opal like her hooves. But instead of being smooth, spiral ridges wound around the stem like a vine around a tree. Fearing she was tainted like Jasper and Shadow, Gemstone fled and settled in this valley far from all other unicorns. She didn’t feel evil. She didn’t harbour bad thoughts about anyone or anything. In fact, she dedicated her life to helping others. Her home was filled with creatures who found life too difficult or dangerous outside her territory.

  But something was wrong.

  She trotted down to the lake, swam out to its deepest part, and dived to where the aquadragons lived in the narrow channels carved by meandering currents. Like them, she could swim under water for as long as she wished. Her powerful legs drove her deeper, the aquamarine and turquoise aquadragons cavorting alongside, their kelp-like appendages pinned tight to streamline their pulsing bodies, their tails unfurled and swishing behind. Down here, the troubles that engulfed Gemstone above the surface disappeared. She blew bubbles for her friends to ride and towed them with her ruby tail. They expelled jets of water through their thin snouts, their ridged faces creating twinkling whirls of turbulence as they zoomed through the effervescence. Their giggles and the silky flow of water cheered her more than a feast of the lushest clover.

  Renewed, she emerged from the lake and rolled on the sunny bank, wriggling in the short grass. A nip on her exposed belly made her squeal. “Stop that! You’re too cheeky for your own good.” She righted herself and stood up, shaking from head to tail in a glittering spray.